


'Tis Only a Flesh Wound

by vanishedSchism



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Brotherly Dick Grayson/Tim Drake, It's the batfamily, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Torture, You have to have angst, also some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishedSchism/pseuds/vanishedSchism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick Grayson can hold up under interrogation. It's not the first thing Batman teaches his Robins, but it's pretty high on the list. </p><p>Physical pain is very different from emotional though and when Batman is out of town, Dick learns that sometimes it's protecting your family that puts them in the most danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dick Grayson leaned his head against the hard concrete wall and sighed. Batman would be so disappointed. 

Luckily for him, or perhaps unlucky, given the situation, Batman was out of town for the next couple of days. When Dick asked why, he just gruffly stated ‘business’ and hung up the phone.

And so Nightwing packed his bags, sent a warning to a small gang in Blüdhaven that was starting to get a little too cocky and set off for Gotham. 

Bruce was gone by the time he got there. Typical. 

Luckily, because Bruce anticipated his leave to only take a couple of days, Dick didn’t have to actually be _Batman_ while the big man was gone, he just needed to keep an eye on Gotham. And of course there was the unspoken order, to keep an eye on Tim, while Batman was gone. 

Timothy Drake, kid who became a Robin and restored the Bat’s humanity while Dick hid in Blüdhaven like the whiny child he is, could handle himself in Gotham City. Dick had complete confidence in his abilities and was honestly proud that the kid had taken his previous title. So really, between Tim and Alfred, Gotham didn’t really need Dick Grayson (and Blüdhaven kind of did) but as annoyed as he was at Bruce for calling him here with no preamble, he was glad to be home. 

Family was complicated. Jason had proven that over and over again, and it had taken some time for Dick to warm up to Tim too, though now he thought of the kid as the annoying little brother he’d always kind of wanted. That was the thing about family, you may say some shitty things, even argue to the point of not speaking, but people always came around. He’d see Jason walking around the mansion and get a chance to apologize, or Tim would come over and steal some of his popcorn and they’d sit in companionable silence until they both realized what idiots they were being. That, or Alfred would chide him until he put away his pride and apologized. 

It was nice to be around Tim again. He still hadn’t gotten used to the aching hole Jason had left in both his chest and the manor, but Tim reminded him what it was like to have a family again. The night he’d gotten back, the two of them had convinced Alfred to just order some pizzas for a bad movie marathon after patrol. Dick had to admit that Blade movie was a lot better than anyone was expecting and he and Tim talked about the implications the movies made for the extended universe for longer than either of them really had time for. 

It was nice though, and Dick felt more content as he fell on his bed than he had in a long time. He was back in Gotham, was with his family, and felt like there was more to him than just his worth as Nightwing. 

He really hoped there was, because he his worth as Nightwing was steadily falling. 

As evidenced by his current situation. 

He banged his head against the dank wall again, not quite ready to be finished feeling sorry for himself. He decided he’d get two more minutes of moping before he tried to figure out where he was. It was unusually warm for a dank cell, and something near him was whirring. 

He didn’t think about those clues for the moment though, he just focused on counting his breaths. After thirty seconds, he was feeling calm enough to start putting the clues together. By the time his two minutes had passed, he’d determined he was likely in a cleaned out supply closet. Both the whirring and unnatural warmth pointed to the presence of vents, and a little bit of exploring confirmed that there were not only vents, but jutting strips of metal near where he was sitting. 

He was almost insulted that they’d only taken the minimum measures to prevent his escape. Sure, there were no windows and the single door was the only exit, but they tied his wrists and legs with _rope_ for pete’s sake! Did they want him to try to escape? 

Actually, that was possible. Some of the wackos in this city definitely _would_ capture a former batkid just to run him through a bizarre obstacle course designed to show off their unique abilities. 

Dick decided not to play along, and instead waited for his captors to reappear. 

They didn’t keep him waiting long. 

He didn’t move from his position on the ground when the door opened. The sudden flood of light made it difficult to make out any of the details of his captors, but it didn’t take much detail to realize that one of them was in a wheelchair- flanked by two figures of differing heights. The taller flanking figure walked forward with sure steps and hauled him to his feet. He felt something press warningly into his side. 

“Is that a taser in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” he asked with an easy grin. 

The goon wasn’t willing to play along. “If you make one threatening move, both my partner and I will first shock you, then drag you bodily to our destination.” 

“Relax, I’m unarmed.” That was true. He still had his suit and mask, but his belt, escrima sticks and even boots had all been stripped away while he was unconscious. Too bad, he hid a small knife in one of his boots. 

The taller of the goons simply snorted at that as the other said at the same time, “And that wouldn’t stop you.” 

Dick shrugged as the taller goon pulled him to his feet. 

“Are you going to untie me? I solemnly swear not to kick you in the crotch if you do.” 

Perhaps predictably, the goon just grunted. 

“Fine, I’ll waddle. I can waddle with dignity.” 

“If you don’t shut up you’ll be dead with dignity,” the man in the wheelchair growled. 

“Nah, you wouldn’t do that. You need me for some nefarious purpose or another.” 

Dick gasped and folded inward as short goon’s boot connected with his crotch. 

“That should shut him up.” 

Dick glared _especially_ hard at short goon, but he did shut up. The taser pushed more insistently into his side as the short goon pulled out a piece of cloth. The message was clear and he let them blindfold him with little fuss. 

He counted the turns they took on the shuffle to the new destination. It didn’t really matter because he was sure they’d turned him around a couple of times, but that meant the distance wasn’t as long as it felt. He figured they were actually in a relatively small warehouse. Small for Gotham at least. Also, he couldn’t smell the bay which was more evidence that he probably wasn’t in Warehouse Row.

Soon enough, he was shoved into a wooden chair and his captors started tying him down. He jerked his hand, causing one of the goons to swear as their grip tightened and the other to shock him. They tied him down (firmly) as he recovered the from the shock. 

When he was properly tied down (and they did do a good job, unfortunately) the blindfold was yanked from his head. 

He was in an relatively typical office, desk, guest chair, fireplace in the corner, everything you’d expect. Dick doubted it belonged to the man in the wheelchair (in the sense that he did work here) because there was a heavy armchair behind the desk- not wheelchair friendly at all. 

Not that his captor seemed to be having any trouble. His hands were steepled in his lap and he was positioned in front of a lit fireplace. Dick occupied the visitor seat in the office and the two goons hovered around the desk. 

“You know, the thing about Bond Villains is that they always get defeated. Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered to be compared to such a classic hero, but the villain’s don’t usually get off too well in those movies. Might be something to think about.”

Wheelchairguy sighed. “I thought we could be civil about this. Luckily, I have a contingency plan.” He wheeled close enough that Dick could see the gun holstered at his hip. 

“Now, if you answer truthfully, I will allow you to leave. If not…” he let the verbal threat trail off as he drew out the gun and casually pointed it at his captive. 

“Yeah, got it, you’re a scary villain. We can proceed.”

He leveled an unimpressed look at Nightwing. “Who is Batman?” 

“The Night.”

One of the assistants jumped as gun went off. A _lot_ of pain tolerance training went into Nightwing not swearing as the bullet shattered one of the bones in his leg. 

“Who is Batman?” the asshole in the chair repeated. 

“An unstable man that dresses like a bat and punches people,” Dick hissed. 

The man wheeled closer, so he was right next to Dick’s injured leg. His unarmed hand rested over the entry wound. 

“One more time, kid,” he said, a touch of false concern in his voice, “you can still get out of this. Just tell me the Batman’s name.” 

Dick gave one of his best glares as he spat, “Desmodus rotundus.” 

 

The man jammed his finger into the wound and twisted, making Dick hiss in surprise and pain. 

He almost didn’t notice the taller goon walk out of the room- he was far more preoccupied with the feeling of bones and muscle being pushed around his leg. He tried to kick with his other leg- on the off chance it wasn’t well enough bound for that to do anything, but his efforts predictably yielded no results. 

He decided to stall. 

“I guess this isn’t the time to mention the Bat’s out of town?”

That earned him a punch in the gut. At least it made wheelchair guy pull his hand out of the wound.

“Shouldn’t be back for a while,” he persisted. "A week at least.” The next punch hit his head with enough force to make it reel. 

“Tell me his fucking name,” his captor growled. 

Dick blinked until his vision stopped swimming. “I think it’s, it’s- I forgot.”

The man raised his fist to begin clobbering again, but it never hit its mark. The shorter goon stepped in and whispered something in their boss’s ear that made him wheel back enough to make space for them. They held a gilded letter opener in one hand. 

“Let’s try a different tact. You don’t want to say anything about Batman, right?”

“How _did_ you guess?”

They ignored his quip, instead moving behind him and practically draping themselves over his back while trailing the letter opener over his cheek. The cool metal sharply contrasted with the warmth of the room. 

“What about you,” they crooned in his ear. “Why don’t you tell us your name?” 

“Nightwing.” 

The letter opener slowly trailed over his jawbone to his neck where the assistant held it for a moment before tracing his adam’s apple and finally resting it in the hollow of his throat. 

“Wrong answer.” The letter opener pushed insistently against his throat. He knew it wasn’t sharp enough to pierce the skin without a lot of force behind it, but it was hard to swallow his nervousness at the feeling. They could probably feel his pulse speed up. 

“What’s your name little birdy?”

“Buy me dinner first.”

The feeling of the letter opener vanished from his throat, only to reappear as it was forcefully stabbed into his chest. That blunt of an instrument was not meant to slip between ribs, though, with enough pushing it _could_ as Dick just learned. 

“What about Robin?” the short goon asked, leaning into his face as they twisted the not-quite-literal knife in the wound. 

Dick spat in their face. They made a disgusted sound and moved away, presumably wiping their face. 

“He’s all yours Boss.”

The man in the wheelchair turned around brandishing a red hot fire poker. Dick felt little shame in the way he pressed himself against the back of the chair as if that totally futile gesture would do anything to prevent the burning piece of metal from moving closer. 

He set his jaw and resolved to tough this one out too. He’d been burned before after all. As Robin he’d escaped his fair share of burning buildings and some were closer calls than others. 

He could feel the heat radiating off the poker uncomfortably close to his cheek when the movement suddenly stopped as the familiar crackle of a walkie-talkie filled the office. 

“The package has been obtained. Coming back without pursuit over,” a tinny voice said. 

The shorter assistant replied “Med will be prepped for your arrival, over,” then shot their boss a meaningful look. He sighed and whacked Dick across the forehead with the poker. The hit wasn’t enough to knock him out, but a moment later something pinched his arm, and that definitely was. 

His eyes slipped closed and he gradually drifted into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

When Dick next woke up, he was once more lying on the floor of the utility closet. The stiffness in his body told him that some time had passed, but without a window or sound or any other indication of the outside world, he had no way to quantify how much had. 

He groaned as he pushed himself first onto his hands, then into a sitting position. His leg screamed in protest but a couple of breathing exercises allowed him to ignore the pain and focus on his next task.

He needed to free his hands, which were bound at the wrists and forced behind him. 

He scooted along the vent, wiggling his fingers as he moved. He smiled grimly when the jagged edge he’d previously found cut his finger. 

From there, it was a question of wiggling into a position that let him saw the ropes against the sharp piece of metal. Soon enough his hands were free and, a moment later, his feet were too. 

Now that he was free, he could examine his injuries. His chest and shoulder ached, but those were secondary injuries. He looked at his leg. There was no way to tell how clean the wound was initially, but it definitely wasn’t now. Blood had stained the legs of his costume and some fabric had gotten into the wound. He could see little white bits of bone poking through the flesh and decided not to deal with that right now. 

He could imagine Bruce yelling at him as he braced himself against the vent and stood up, but escape took precedence over wound care right now. 

He began with limbering stretches which had the dual function of allowing him to explore the damage and his limits with the leg and stretching the tight muscles. 

He wasn’t far into the regimen when he heard heavy footfall down the hall. He leaned against the wall, facing the door, ready to fight his way out. 

As soon as the door opened, Dick jumped forward- right into a body that was thrown forward at the same time he jumped. They collided in the air and both fell to the ground. The door slammed closed as Dick stared at the boy sprawled over him. 

“Robin?”   
A second passed before Tim groaned, then began standing up. 

One of the things about the Robin uniform being red is that it makes it harder to see blood staining it. Dick tried to decide whether or not that was reassuring as he looked at Tim. Small rips and bruises showed the evidence of a lost struggle- probably when Tim was caught- and longer slashes looked like more deliberate cuts. Dick found his attention primarily caught by Tim’s left arm- the kid was holding it unnaturally stiffly. He also had an already bruising black eye.

“I had to pretend to pass out to escape that guy,” he said, simultaneously acknowledging Dick’s presence and also that he himself was okay. Or as okay as possible, given the circumstances. 

Dick smiled and lightly hugged Tim. The faint hiss he was met with meant Tim’s injuries were more extensive than he’d initially thought. He shot Tim a concerned look and was entirely unsurprised as he was brushed off. Tim backed up and once more started talking business. 

“He wanted Batman’s name.” 

Dick sighed and leaned against the wall. “Yours too.” 

“Yeah, but I think that was just to get at Batman. I think he has a personal feud.” 

“That makes the most sense. He would have made more threats if he wanted more than information.” 

Tim nodded. 

Dick frowned. 

Tim looked away, then sat down. He was good at hiding the slight limp but Dick had been in this business too long not to notice how Tim ever so slightly favored his left side as he moved to the other wall. He had also been around Tim long enough to have enough tact not to comment on it. 

Instead he just slid down his own wall, giving his leg a much needed rest. They fell into a somewhat uncomfortable silence. Dick continued his stretching. Tim did his own injury assessment. 

When Dick finished, he spoke again. “So I’ve been thinking about Blade.” He laughed at the surprised, yet definitely judgmental, look Tim responded with.   
“Hey, hey, hear me out here. I know you’re going to say, ‘but Nightwing, we’re being held in this random factory and tortured for the secret we’re not going to reveal, shouldn’t we be doing something more helpful than talking about a bad movie?’” 

Tim cut in before Dick could go on. “I wouldn’t consider it a bad movie, especially given everything we talked about the other night.” 

Dick beamed. “Exactly! So that’s what I’ve been thinking about! Action movies are generally formulaic, at least as far as the relationships go. The main guy gets paired with the girl, they hate each other at first, then there’s some sort of fantastic personality one-eighty and suddenly they’re in love at the end of the movie. I can tell you from experience that that’s not how it works.”

“Didn’t Kori punch you when you tried?”

Dick could hear his voice rise as he demanded, “who told you that?” 

Tim grinned. “Batman.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Of course he did. The Bat never could keep to himself.”

Tim, already standing up, took a step closer. “He uses Alfred as a spy.” 

“That man has unprecedented observation skills. Did the Bat ever tell you about the time he was trying to pursue the Riddler that time that ended with him fighting Black Canary and Green Arrow? Supposedly Alfred is the one that suggested he’d gone to Star City.”

“No way!”

“I tell no lies.”

“You lie all the time!”

“Okay, that’s true, but I’m not lying now. Anyway, as I was saying about Blade, it’s great because it doesn’t follow that trope.” 

Tim slowly moved closer as he got excited, and by the time they’d moved on from comparing Karen’s relationship with Blade to other action movie stars and were now looking at the difference between friendship and relationship building in kids movies, Tim had moved across the room and sat down next to Nightwing. 

Dick was explaining the limitations of the filmic narrative, specifically due to time constraints, when Tim leaned against his head on his shoulder. 

And promptly pulled back. 

“You’re so bony!” he exclaimed, looking at Dick like his shoulders had personally betrayed him. 

Dick grinned, “That’s what Kori told me last night.” 

“You were in Gotham last night.” 

Dick waggled his eyebrows, making Tim pull a face. Then, teasing done, Dick spread his arm and, a moment later, Tim accepted the offer and moved back, this time leaning on the inside of Dick’s shoulder. Dick draped his arm over Tim’s own shoulders and put his hand on top of Tim’s head. When his brother didn’t protest, Dick threaded his hands over and over through Tim’s hair, an action that quickly devolved into scritching. He kept talking quietly after that, but neither of them were really paying attention to what he was saying. When Tim fell asleep in that position, Dick let his unfinished sentence trail off and closed his own eyes. 

He meant to think about ways for them to escape. He’s not sure when he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, or what counted as a day when you and your little brother were trapped in a service closet with no windows, Dick and Tim began strategizing. Whoever wheelchair guy was, he must not know much about the Robins, because anyone who did would know never to leave two of them in the same room together. By the time they heard footsteps coming down the hall again, Dick and Tim had come up with more than a dozen potential tactics for knocking out the guards and escaping. Given their injuries, the plans they’d settled on prioritized getting out and staying together rather than gathering information or splitting up at any point, but as long as they got the initial move, the plans were all relatively solid. 

One of the first things you learn as Robin is that although plans are important, events rarely follow them. 

For instance, when the door opened, Dick just got a short glimpse of the taller assistant before they threw something into the room before slamming the door closed. 

It barely hit the ground before it began spewing gas. 

The last thing Dick saw before he fell to the floor was Tim holding his arm over his mouth and trying not to breathe. 

————

Dick wasn’t entirely surprised to wake up in the office. 

What did surprise him was that he was tied (securely again) to the office chair behind the desk. He could wiggle his torso a bit, but his wrists were each bound to the arms of the chair, heavily restricting the movement of his hands. 

The shorter assistant stood by the blazing hearth. That’s probably why the room felt uncomfortably warm. 

The taller assistant stood by the door, right behind a still passed out Tim bound in the same chair Dick himself had been in earlier.   
The man in the wheelchair was off to the side a little, gun at his hip and hands once more steepled in front of him. 

He looked at Tim, frowned, then spoke to Dick. “Still asleep. Not that I’m surprised. Poor kid had a hard day yesterday.”

The taller assistant spoke up. “Though he did put up quite a fight. Say what you want about the Batman, but he sure knows how to train ‘em.” 

“The Batman is a homicidal maniac that corrupts children in and out of the suit!” the shorter one said with startling vehemence. 

“Chill, I’m just saying it’s impressive.”

“It’s disgusting is what it is. They’re _children_.” 

Dick raised an eyebrow, but it was the man in the wheelchair that got there first. “And what about that?” he asked, indicating Tim. 

The assistants spoke at the same time. 

“Collateral.”

“Not one.” 

The man in the wheelchair nodded, as if these were perfectly acceptable and understandable answers. Dick disagreed. 

“He’s not even eighteen! What he wears doesn’t change that!”

“He made his choices. As you made yours. Now you both have to face the consequences.” He wheeled toward the desk and made a show of shuffling through everything on the surface until he found what he was looking for- a pocketknife that was hidden under a couple papers. 

He grabbed it and flicked it open as he returned to Tim’s side. 

“Of course, Nightwing,” he said as he pulled Tim’s head back and held the blade under his exposed throat, “you can preserve his lost innocence a little longer.” 

He pressed until a bead of blood formed at the edge of the blade. Dick could see Tim tense, though the kid didn’t give any other indication that he was conscious. 

“All you have to do,” the man said as he pressed down, causing the bead of blood to begin to trickle down Tim’s neck, “is tell me Batman’s name.” 

Dick didn’t speak. 

“That’s a shame,” the man said as he pressed ever so slightly harder, then pulled the knife away completely before stabbing it down into Tim’s shoulder. 

Tim sucked in a harsh breath. The man in the wheelchair smiled. 

“Glad you could join us Robin. I have a feeling we’ll be more productive with your presence.” 

“I guess you didn’t learn anything from last time,” Tim said, glaring at him. 

“On the contrary Robin,” the man said, reaching over Tim’s lap and pushing against his broken ribs, “I learned everything.” 

Dick could see the effort it took for Tim to stay quiet at that written across his face. 

“I’m not giving you anything,” he insisted as the man drove his palm in twisted his wrist to further aggravate the broken bones. 

“It seems the title World’s Greatest Detective isn’t hereditary.”   
“You think Batman’s my dad? Nightwing,” he said with a relatively jovial tone, though the ignored pain was evident in his voice, “did you hear that?”

“It’s almost as hilarious as his delusion that we’re going to tell him Batman’s name. Does Batman even have a name? I’ve never seen him without the cowl.” 

“He told me once he was like that guy from-“ he took a deep breath as the man in the wheelchair, who didn’t look at all amused, pushed once more against his ribs. “the Princess Bride…” he finished weakly as the man twisted the knife in his shoulder. 

Then he nodded at the shorter assistant who grinned, pulled the poker out of the fire, and began walking towards Tim. Meanwhile, the man in the wheelchair addressed Dick directly. 

“This is what’s going to happen. You start talking and I'll stop Jesse. But if you don’t answer my questions, or if you waste my time in any other way, it’ll be the boy that pays." With that, he savagely punched Tim in the chest, then wheeled back to give the goon with the white hot poker room. 

Though the taller assistant’s face remained stoic, the shorter one- Jesse- was barely holding back their glee. That almost scared Dick more than the poker. People who were torturing as a means to an end were one thing, but those who _enjoyed_ it were another thing altogether. 

He needed to stop this before Tim got seriously hurt.

Jesse shoved the hot tip of the poker into Tim’s face, making the boy pull back as much as he was able. Apparently delighted by this reaction, the short assistant pushed it a little closer before slightly pulling back then tracing over the captive Robin’s body with the tip- just barely avoiding touching the fabric of the suit. 

Then a flick of a wrist immediately followed by a hiss and strangled cry. 

“Wait!” Dick exclaimed, leaning forward, as if to be physically closer to Tim. “Pull away, I’ll talk.” 

Jesse swept their foot out so that the chair, with Tim in it, toppled to the floor. All attention in the room focused on Dick. 

“This is really hard, I’ve known for as long as I can remember, to betray him like this…” he looked down as he let that thought trail off. 

“It’s him or the kid,” the taller assistant said, and Dick could see that Jesse had moved so their foot rested on one of Tim’s ankles, ready to drive down. He gulped and continued.   
“Batman found me when I desperately needed it. He took me in and taught me to fight. I was scared at first, I didn’t know what I was doing and I’d been raised to avoid conflict. This much violence it was- it still is sometimes, terrifying. But what the Bat says goes, right? So-“

“I don’t need to hear your entire life story, kid.” The man in the wheelchair interrupted. 

“Yes you do. This is how the Batman corrupts them!” the taller assistant insisted. “If we know this, we can stop him.” 

“We’re going to stop him anyway. As soon as we know who he is.”

“Of course, but this is still important. It’s uh, like canvasing. We should learn as much as we can, especially if he’s willing to talk now.”

“And I’m talking. Do you have any idea how long I’ve had to keep this in?” Dick cut in. “The Bat doesn’t tolerate any weaknesses, especially emotional ones. Have you ever seen him smile? He doesn’t and it’s just gotten worse since-“ he gulped, thinking about Jason, thinking about how he abandoned Bruce and the city, how he’d just run away. “Well, there’s a reason I left.” He took a deep breath. “But anyway, I don’t owe him anything. I got out and I said good riddance. So why should I care if I tell you his biggest secret?” 

Dick opened his mouth and everyone leaned forward to hear what he was about to say. 

They never got the chance though, because at that moment the shorter assistant fell to the ground, revealing a bloody and battered Robin, pocketknife in his teeth, standing behind him. 

The taller assistant moved forward with a taser, but she was disarmed and incapacitated before you could smitty werbenjagermanjenson. 

The man in the wheelchair tried to shoot him when his back was turned, but Tim did a beautiful backflip (Dick taught him that move) and landed and clocked the man in the jaw, taking him out in one hit. 

He stumbled a little as he made his way around the desk so he could free Dick, though his face remained resolute and impassive the entire time. 

Once both were free and the rest of the room was incapacitated, Dick used the phone on the desk to call the police and briefly explain the situation, then he looked at Tim, nodded, and they left the building.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Dick was alone at the computer in the cave. It was too early for most of the criminal activity in Gotham to begin, but Dick wanted to make absolutely sure he was familiar with Gotham’s layout, with its tricks and turns and any secrets it may have gathered while he’d been away. He wasn’t about to be ambushed again any time soon.

“There’s a blind spot in that alley over there,” Tim said, walking up and pointing to one of the screens. “Bruce knows about it but he hasn’t gotten a chance to fix it yet.” 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Tim nodded and lapsed into silence. He was wearing his civilian clothes, loose pants and a dark sweatshirt with a hood that obscured what bruising on his face the concealer couldn’t quite hide. He was dropping by his house today. His parents were still out of town, but he’d been gone for two days (and not attending school during that period) so he figured it was best if he at least showed his face to the nanny so she knew he was alive. He assured Alfred that he could come up with a believable lie for missing school too. 

“Did you mean any of that?” He asked, breaking the silence. 

Dick looked at him in surprise. “What I said about Bruce? Of course not.” 

Apparently that didn’t convince Tim. Dick sighed and turned so he was facing the other boy. “Tim. Bruce adopted me. He took me in after my parents died and he helped me find the man who was responsible. He taught me how to bring him to justice _his_ way and after that, I was hooked. I chose all of this. Just like you.” 

“So in the office-“

“I was stalling. And pulling on heartstrings to distract them.” 

“Yeah, thanks for that. I thought that goon was never going to stop looking at me.” 

Dick smiled and reached out his arm, catching Tim in a loose hug. “No problem Timmy. I knew you’d be fine with a little bit of space.”   
Tim sighed and leaned into Dick. “Fine is an interesting word. Nice acting though.”

“What can I say, I was raised in a circus. Born to perform baby.” 

“Augh! There goes the moment. There was a moment there Nightwing. There was a moment and you ruined it.” 

Dick laughed. “I didn’t think you were one for moments. Is Bruce making you sappy? Has he been showing you his movie collection?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Batman doesn’t watch movies. Except maybe some of that super gritty film noir stuff. I’ll bet he’s a fan of the Maltese Falcon.” 

“He’s definitely commented on the lack of leggy blondes in crime fighting these days,” Dick laughed. 

“I think you mean _you’ve_ commented on the lack of leggy blondes.” 

“Actually, I’m partial to redheads.”

“And that is more than I ever needed to know, tmi Dick."

“Aww, have I offended your delicate sensibilities?”

Tim made an exaggeratedly disgusted face. 

Dick laughed and turned back to the computer. 

This time the silence was more comfortable. 

Sometime later, Tim stood up. “I have some homework and I’d better get to. And I still need to come up with a cover story for missing school. You won’t be here tonight.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Dick answered anyway. “I have to get back to Blüdhaven. She doesn’t like to be left alone.” 

Tim nodded. “I guess I’ll see you the next time Gotham’s in trouble then.” 

“You can count on it.” 

Tim flashed him a brief smile, then headed up the stairs. Dick heard him say something to Alfred, but he didn’t concern himself with whatever it was. He turned his attention back to the screens.


End file.
